


Like a Modern Day Florence Nightingale

by WillowFaerie82



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mentions of Elia Martell - Freeform, sick!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:34:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4223625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowFaerie82/pseuds/WillowFaerie82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sandor has some kind of death plague and Sansa is an awesome girlfriend/nursemaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Modern Day Florence Nightingale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jillypups](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jillypups/gifts), [Littlefeather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlefeather/gifts).



> I'm also dedicating this to Clem, 'cause I know how much she loves Elia Martell.

They’ve only been dating just a few months when Sandor text’s her one afternoon saying he’ll have to skip their dinner-and-a-movie because he’s come down with some kind of death-plague. It was opening night for a movie they’d both been super psyched about seeing, and Sansa was bummed that they wouldn’t be able to experience it with the huge opening night crowd. Oh well, nothing to be done for it; she had a sick boyfriend to nurse back to health.

 

“Mom, would it be sacrilege to make your homemade chicken soup in a few hours instead of all day?” Sansa knew if anything could help Sandor feel better it would be her mom’s soup. 

 

Catelyn put down the paperwork she’d been looking over and smiled at her eldest daughter. “No sweetheart a few hours would be fine. Are you coming down with something? Should I call the doctor and make an appointment?” 

 

“No, I’m fine. Sandor just texted me. We were supposed to have dinner and see a movie tonight but he’s sick. I wanted to take him some of your soup to make him feel better.” Sansa explained sitting in the chair across the desk from where her mother was sorting what looked like bills and insurance stuff from Bran’s therapy.

 

“Oh, well that’s a lovely idea. I think there should be a container of broth in the freezer. Just put the broth in a pot, on a low heat to defrost. We can add some of the roast chicken from the other night to it, once it’s thawed. Then about a half hour before you leave to take it to him add some rice and let it cook. Take a sleeve of crackers with you, and you’ll probably want to pick up some ginger ale. If this is the same thing Rickon had last week Sandor will probably be down for the count for a few days. Let me finish sorting this mess and I’ll come out and help you.” Catelyn said picking her glasses up from the desk and diving back into the pile of papers. 

 

Sansa had gotten the broth thawing on the stove and the chicken out of the fridge and cut up, and was sitting on the island in the center of the kitchen when Catelyn came in. “Sansa get off that counter right now! I would expect to see Arya up there, not you.” 

 

“Sorry mom.” Sansa had the decency to look shame-faced before ducking her head back to her phone and the text she was sending. She did put the phone aside long enough to help her mom get everything into the pot once the broth was ready. 

 

Sansa made her way up the multiple flights of stairs to Sandor’s apartment while juggling the soup, her purse, and the grocery bag. When she finally got to his door she set everything down, took a second to straighten her hair and clothing, and only when she felt she looked perfect did she text Sandor. ‘Are you alive enough to answer the door? I brought soup.’ There was a minute of silence, aside from the buzzing of the light fixture over her head, before Sansa finally heard Sandor coming to the door.   
“Sansa, what the hell are you doing here? You can’t get sick. If you get sick you can’t work. And those babies in the NICU need you.” Sandor scowls, but the hard look is rendered impotent by the hacking cough and sneeze that leave the big man doubled over in the hallway. 

 

“I brought you some soup, it’s homemade. I’ll be fine. Rickon had this a week or so ago and I’ve been in and out of mom and dad’s so much it’s almost like I’ve moved back in. If I were going to catch this I’d have it by now. Come on, come sit on the couch. I’ll get the soup dished out and we can watch whatever marathon is on USA, I’m sure it’s either SVU or White Collar.” 

 

Sandor acquiesced and moved over to the sofa, turning on the TV while he waited. He flipped through the channels landing on something that looked crime-drama/procedural-ish, Sandor tosses the remote back on the low, wooden table in front of the sofa and leans his head against the wall; the trip from the bedroom to the front door and talking to Sansa have pretty much wiped him out. He stirs back to wakefulness when he feels Sansa’s slight frame settle against him.  
“Soup’s on, babe. I know the last thing you feel like doing is eating, but you’ve got to keep your strength up. How are Elia and her kids doing? I haven’t had a chance to talk to her since they were all discharged?” 

 

Sandor sits up, with a groan and a hacking cough, and brings the mug of soup close to his face hoping the steam will help clear his nose. “They’re doing ok, my friend Bronn is sticking pretty close to them until they get settled back in with her brother and his family.”

 

They settle in to eat, Sandor occasionally stopping to sniffle and sneeze, or cough; and are soon engrossed in the episode of whatever is on. The plot doesn’t make much sense to Sandor, mostly because he’s watching through a cold-fogged brain. Not too much later Sansa has removed their mugs and comes back with hands full of medicine.  
“Cough syrup, Motrin, and an anti-biotic that I saw on the counter.” She explains and laughs when Sandor turns his nose up at the dark brown bottle and small plastic cup.

 

“I can taste that stuff even though my nose is so clogged up I can’t breathe. I don’t wanna take it.” He knows he sounds like a whiny baby, but he can’t help it. 

 

“That’s why I brought a glass of water to wash it down. You’re acting like a baby. Take your meds and then I promise we’ll watch as many episodes of Star Trek as you can stay awake through.” She’s almost certain he won’t be able to keep his eyes open through one episode. 

 

Sandor gags his way through cough syrup, a ‘god damned horse pill, for fucks sake could they make them any bigger’, and three Motrin; after which he sinks back down on the couch with his head in Sansa’s lap. She runs her hand through his long hair and listens to his rasping breath; made worse by the fact that he refuses to quit smoking. His breathing evens out and the snoring commences about 20 minutes into the episode. Sansa grins to herself and quietly pulls her latest needlepoint project out of her bag. 

 

When Sandor wakes a couple hours later he takes in Sansa’s sleeping form and gently pulls the wooden hoop with the fabric stretched across it out of her hands. He loosens the hoop (he’s heard her complain about Arya ruining too many projects by leaving them in the hoop) and sets the whole thing on the table in front of them. His breathing is easier and he doesn’t feel completely like death warmed over; so he carefully lifts Sansa into his arms and makes his way to the bedroom. After tucking Sansa into the king sized bed he makes the rounds of the apartment, shutting down for the night, then grabs Sansa’s phone and sends a text to her mother ‘Staying at Sandor’s for the night. Don’t wait up.’ He doesn’t read the response, just sets the phone on Sansa’s side table. As he’s drifting off to sleep Sandor wonders how much convincing it would take for Sansa to move in with him.


End file.
